


Marry Me

by Destiel_is_Classic



Series: Him Not Me [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Feels, M/M, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiel_is_Classic/pseuds/Destiel_is_Classic
Summary: He's loved him, God, he has loved him his whole life.He never thought this day would come or that he'd have to say goodbye.





	Marry Me

“Buck-” Steve’s voice sounded small, smaller than Bucky has ever heard the man sound in their whole life together. Bucky looked up, his eyes taking in the glorious sight of Steve, fitted in a black tux paired with a royal blue tie attached to it a little red clip to hold in place. Pinned to his pocket, a single calla lily complimented with a yellow rose, it made Bucky’s chest constrict because they had colors. They had favorite flowers and colors and a song that Steve played ad-nauseam in the car belting the lyrics without a care in the world.

“Bucky,” Steve coughed, this time Bucky looked raising his head to see those damn blue eyes looking at him with worry and impatience. Suddenly Bucky lost it, lost the words on his tongue that had built up inside his chest for so long that he thought he was going to burst. His breath caught painfully in his chest constricting to the point of nausea pooling into his stomach and a burning sensation across his skin. Biting the inside of his cheek he pounded the inside of his head with every moment that brought him to right here, right now, he ran it all over and over until he was no longer seeing the Steve before him.

He was seeing a Steve who could barely contain the tears in his eyes, they pooled up nearly spilling over the edge as Bucky leaned over the hunched form of a bleeding six-year-old.

“Name’s James, but don’t call me James only my Ma calls me James,” He held his hand out for the shaking kid who looked up at him so fearfully but with such a spark of strength that he knew even then this kid was going to be in his life for the long haul, “What’s yours?”

The kid straightened his back, shoulders pulled back while his bony chest stuck out, “Steve, Steve Rogers,” He took Bucky’s hand in his smaller one and squeezed it once, “What do I call ya then?”

He grinned, “Bucky. Ya, call me Bucky.”

Instant friends, not once did they leave each other’s sides. If you needed Steve you got Bucky and if you needed Bucky you got Steve, especially in a fight. Bucky should have known when they first met that the little scrap he saved Stevie from wasn’t going to be his last. It amazed him how many times he had to pull a kid ten times Stevie’s size off of him. It wasn’t entirely his fault, people saw him and thought an easy target. Some kid with golden hair and big blue eyes looking up at you from a stance of barely five foot three telling you what to do.

Bucky got it.

It was one of the biggest reasons he fell so damn hard for the kid.

He never backed down, not for one second. He would hold his fists up, cock that smirking smile and through a bloody nose and blurry vision he would just garble, “I could do this all day,” while doing his best ducking and dodging the fists coming his way until Bucky could wrestle the attacker away and hand him a rag with a sympathizing eye roll and a clap on the shoulder. Steve had always been something else. Something so remarkably amazing it made his chest ache sometimes to be reminded that he was Bucky’s best friend. That he chose to spend nearly every single day with Bucky, snuck into his window at night and let the other boy hug him and soothe his back when an asthma attack wreaked havoc on his body.

The first time Bucky saw Stevie, his Stevie, wrapped up in a hospital gown with his head ducked low to his chest wheezing through blue lips as Sarah Rogers fought with the other nurse in the room about what her son needed, he nearly broke in half. Holding the smaller kid’s hand as tight as was possible he would lean over and pressed his lips to the cool skin of Stevie’s forehead murmuring that it would all be okay.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Steve would cough up at him.

Bucky would smile, “You stuck with me, punk.”

He smoothed Steve’s hair back as the kid tried to smile, “Til the end of the line, right?”

“Always, Punk,” He loved him with every damn inch of his jaded heart that he couldn’t understand why no one wanted him. No one else looking at this incredible, wonderful boy who was growing and changing before his eyes to become such an incredible man that Bucky could barely sleep at night remembering blue eyes and pouting lips so close to his ear feeling the brush of his breath when Steve laughed or murmured something about the girl Bucky was trying to hook him up with. If Bucky’s heart would pound hard enough, he swore Stevie and their dates could hear it as Steve pressed his growing body up against Bucky’s side so no one would hear him whisper that he was leaving.

He would always try to reach out and grab Steve around the waist, his fingers falling short and landing at the other teen’s wrist feeling that steady pulse. He’d looked into those blue eyes and beg him to say, “For the girls, Stevie,” He would whine, _for me Stevie_ , Bucky would whisper softly through his mind that not even he heard it.

Steve would smile, “They ain’t here for me, Buck,” a pat on the shoulder before he pulled his arm free and disappeared to somewhere that made him smell of day old cigarettes and cheap cologne.

When they were seventeen Bucky came home from work one day and found Steve sitting on his front porch with his face buried in his hands. Bucky was avoiding the movement of Steve’s shoulder beneath his tightening blue shirt and the way he had let his hair grow a little long so that it flopped over his forehead when he scrubbed his hands through it causing a halo around his head. He just bit his tongue and sidled up next to his friend, placed a hand on his shoulder and didn’t register the hug he pulled him into until the moment he felt the tremors from silent tears.

“It spread, Buck,” Steve murmured leaning his head onto the other teen’s shoulder and cried hard enough that Bucky shook from the force.The following week they buried Sarah Rogers in a simple casket and for the first time in their entire friendship the two boys never spoke, just stood shoulder to shoulder, Steve’s hand clutching Bucky’s so tight he lost all feeling in it. That night Bucky stayed at Stevie’s place helping him pack up his meager belongings and holding him when the grief became too much or biting his tongue when the grief-stricken teen lashed out.

“You’re moving in with us,” He said matter-of-factly to the blonde haired teen. 

Steve had looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and a broken smile, “I can’t-”

“Ma already has a room cleaned out, you’re moving in with me, Punk, it’s you and me until the end of the line, Stevie.” He gripped Steve’s shoulder. The other teen jumped to his feet and wrapped Bucky in his arms, Bucky absentmindedly noticed Steve was now as tall as himself, buried his face in the crook his neck and cried. “I love ya, Buck,”

He murmured several moments later. “I love ya too, Punk,” God, was that the deep truth.

They were almost eighteen the first time he honestly admitted to himself that he loved every single aspect of Steve, including his new body. Steve had just gotten off work, calling a hey through his open doorway as Bucky trudged up the stairs tugging his jacket off, barely catching a glimpse of Steve pulling his paint-covered work shirt over his body. Golden skin radiating beneath the overhead light as Bucky drank in defined shoulder muscles rolling as he threw the shirt into his hamper. Buzzing. That was all he could hear as his blood rushed through his body, pounding his heart, heat rising on his skin and tightening in his pants as Stevie slid his denim jeans down that narrowed waist which led to a rounded bottom hidden behind tight briefs just begging to be ripped off.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky had felt his entire body levitate towards the doorway, his mouth begging to taste the honey-colored skin, tongue wanting to lick across those coming- to steely abs, he wanted to trace his nose down the patch of blonde hair leading down into briefs where he knew a thick-

“Hey man, what's up?” Steve’s voice abruptly snapped Bucky out of his lust filled haze.

The young man blinked twice before noticing he had been hovering in the doorway, hand reaching out towards Steve who had a bright smile lighting up those deep blue eyes nearly sending Bucky into cardiac arrest, “I-uh-” He pulled his arm back and rubbed the back of his neck, “You remember Diana?”

Steve’s cheeks blushed, “The brunette with the butterfly tattoo?”

Bucky forced a smile and pushed the pathetic excuse through his teeth, “Got her number today, man.”

Stupid, he was so fucking stupid, he thought over and over as he trekked through the compacted snow of the university courtyard. His shoulder hunched against the wind, fingernails digging into his palm pushing past the first layer of skin as he replayed Stevie’s words over and over in his head.

“Buck, you’re my best friend, my brother in everything but blood so I wanted to be honest with you- I like men,” He had puffed his chest out, held his chin up high as if he was prepared for Bucky to challenge his sexuality.

Bucky had, instead, smiled so bright he thought the sun would call for a rematch, clapped Stevie on the shoulder and went to say, “Thank God, Man, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” but what had slipped past his lips instead was, “Sweet let’s celebrate,” which lead to him having to watch Steve awkwardly flirt with a dude named Sam from their political science class until the kid politely told him he had a girlfriend but that yes he did want to play C.O.D next Saturday.

Now he was forcing his way to the school’s library to pick up Stevie after work because he was going to tell him the truth.

He was going to do it.

He was, seriously, he was going to smile up at the big, blonde Buffon of a best friend he has and tell him he loved him, ask him out properly then hope Stevie didn’t dare laugh in his face. He just had to come up with the balls to actually do it which made him thirty minutes late, making him rush across campus trying his best not to slip on ice (failing miserably but hell if he would admit to that.) By the time he had reached the library the sky had begun to darken, campus lights coming on in flashes of brilliant yellow illuminating the stupid idiot nearly breaking his neck to climb some stairs.

“Stevie,” Bucky coughed, “No, uh, Steve, Steven-Ste-ugh dammit,” He ran his fingers through his hair mentally cataloging the length and wondering what Steve’s fingers would feel like pushing it behind his ear with that heart-melting grin looking down at him as he rolled his eyes and told Bucky it was time to trim it. “Steve, I love you,” Bucky murmured to himself, took a deep breath and opened the library doors.

Steve stood in the lobby his old, withering scarf, that Sarah had made for the harsh Brooklyn winters, wrapped tightly around his neck. His dark tan bomber jacket was zipped up, left hand buried in the pocket of it where Bucky could see his fingers playing with his house keys. Twisting them over and over in his palm because he was nervous, but there was no reason for Steve to be nervous. He had known Bucky was picking him up today, that’s why Buck took the truck to work and Stevie rode the bus to MIT, they had made a plan this morning so Stevie had no reason to be nervous. Yet there it was that lopsided smile making him look ten years younger than what he actually was, making him look like a clumsy golden retriever begging for you to scratch behind his ears.

There was that semi-conscience lean his body had when he was trying to flirt but was too nervous to admit to it.

He was nervous because there was a kid, no he had to be a man but Bucky refused to believe someone who bounced on the balls of their feet as they stood before someone as a man, leaning into Steve. One hand pressed over Steve’s left pec, lips pulled up into a smoldering smirk as he lifted higher on his toes to whisper something in Steve’s ear. The stranger pulled back to smirk up at Steve some more before the blonde threw his head back in laughter, arm coming out of his pocket to throw it over his left pec. A normal gesture for Steve, really, only this meant he ended up holding the kid’s hand and that caused a pregnant pause in the air that tied Bucky’s stomach into knots as he watched, fucking gawking, as Steve lifted his right hand up cupped the scruffy chin of the kid in front of him and kissed him as if his life depended on it.

_Crashing._

His life had come crashing down around him right then and there because there he was ready to spill his heart out but Steve had already given his away.

Driving home that night with Stevie babbling on and on about this kid, the kid, named Tony who was an engineering major studying in Robotics, “Guess what Buck! Tony, he well, he’s only eighteen,” Steve made a defensive gesture when Bucky’s eyes widened to saucers, “He’s a genius you see, already a senior graduating this May. He’s so smart Buck, he’s the reason I was able to pass that required Chem class to finish off my final credits. He brought me lunch today,” on and on Steve had gone about Tony.

Tony Stark.

That name became Bucky’s curse.

Bucky’s nightmare because a short six months later Steve had invited him over to their house to celebrate Tony graduating, to add to it, in front of everybody and more Steve told Tony he loved him and he was willing to follow him anywhere he wanted to go. Bucky wanted to hate him, wanted to curse and rage over the scrap of a genius with a loud mouth and an even louder attitude who had taken his best friend away from him only he couldn’t.

He fucking couldn’t.

That night Bucky had drank too much, more than he should have but he couldn’t be in that damn apartment anymore reeling on losing his best friend. The road has been slippery, they always say bridges ice and flood first but he was too drunk to care that the railing shouldn’t had been that close to him.

He wanted to hate Tony so much but the fucking bastard sat at his bedside, clicking away on a tablet for nearly a week straight in between visits from Steve. Tony did it for Steve to make sure the big lug didn’t lose his job and the whole while as he clicked away on that stupid tablet he was paying for Bucky’s hospital bills. Tony set up an apartment for Bucky to live nearby (rent free, God damn you) while he recovered but still be near Steve. Tony helped coordinate his physical therapy classes, set up his counseling sessions. What really ground his gears was Tony built, no, fucking created, Bucky a new arm all for Steve.

“I’ve always been interested in bioprosthetics, my friend Rhodey is in the Airforce and I always wanted a backup in case something ever happened to him,” He wanted to hate him but Stevie loved him.

Stevie loved him through his parents dying, loved him through becoming the CEO of Stark Industries despite barely being twenty years old, loved him through the alcohol, through the late night partying and horrible paparazzi rumors. It made it really hard to hate the guy when he made his best friend deliriously happy, but that never made it easier on Bucky. Sometimes, despite the good he saw in Stark, he wanted to throttle him for nearly ruining Steve. The only other time Bucky saw an opening to tell Stevie that he loved him, that he could take care of him now, had been ten years later. He had come home from work, throwing his bag onto the counter nearly knocking a picture of his kind-of-girlfriend, Natasha, off the counter to find Steve hunched over on his couch. Head between his hands, shoulders shaking in silent tears barely paying attention to his friend coming up behind him. Stark had just been admitted into rehab, something that tore Steve’s heart in two but Buck was actually happy he had finally agreed to it.

“Stevie,” He reached forward.

Steve whipped around so fast he elbowed his best friend in the chest, “Oh, shit, sorry Buck,”

Bucky shook his head trying not to wince, “I’m fine, what’s wrong?”

Steve looked up at him, blue eyes rimmed red from endless tears, that gorgeous mouth wobbling as fresh grief washed over his face shaking his solid frame once more until Bucky slid onto the couch next to him and wrapped the man into a bone-crushing hug listening to Steve sob through his fears. Tony was in rehab now. Tony was getting better but what if it wasn’t enough? Steve couldn’t handle another near O.D. or coming home to find his boyfriend passed out in a pool of his own vomit. He couldn't handle having to hear through Pepper or Rhodey that Tony was buried in his workshop and they needed help to get him to sleep, eat, bathe.

“I love him, Buck, but what if it isn’t enough,” Those grief-stricken blue eyes pierced through him, stabbed him in the heart deep enough that he could feel the blood dripping down his chest pooling in his stomach, swirling and swishing his brain out of focus.

They had sat there for what felt like hours talking back in forth about Tony’s condition, about the stress from alcohol had caused on his now failing heart, late nights where Steve had to fortify his boyfriend into coming to bed, the missed meetings and paparazzi following Steve around like a hound dog. Steve, his best friend, the single strongest man he had ever known his whole life, cried hard enough into Bucky’s shoulder that a ten year to late asthma attack took him over, keeling the man forward until Bucky forced him back, pressed between his shoulder blades and told him to “Breath dammit,” as he hunted down an age-old inhaler stuffed somewhere in his bathroom closet.

Steve looked up at him, blue eyes bleary mouth slightly blue but color reappearing in his cheeks and God did that damn life-saver look not make Bucky’s chest ache, heart constricting behind his ribcage trying to pump extra blood through him and work double time since he had forgotten to breathe his own damn self. He couldn’t help it. Stevie looked beautiful, so fucking beautiful, all the time but it was moments like this when they were alone and Bucky was reminded of the skinny punk getting into scraps in the schoolyard where he found it the hardest not to pull Steve into his arms, brush the hair that refused to cooperate behind his ear and bring their mouths together to be able to chase away the world with the taste of his best friend breathing life back into his being.

“Buck,” Steve murmured bringing the man back to reality where he noticed his flesh and bone hand cupping Stevie’s cheek, foreheads resting against the other’s and there he was merely inches away from Bucky’s lips. Close enough to feel that warm breath swirling with his own, peppermint and licorice imprinting into his mind to card away for drunken nights when he was lonelier than he could ever imagine staring up at the ceiling pretending he was okay.

“Fuck,” Bucky pulled back nearly shoving Steve off the couch before apologizing trying to laugh the whole occurrence off by saying the punk had scared him.

Four months later, Bucky was staring at a bright-eyed Tony Stark looking fresher than he ever could have imagined, fingers entwined with Steve’s as the latter shoved a red and blue colored envelope into his hand and Bucky felt his whole life come to a spiraling halt as he stared at four simple words. Four little words mocking his entire existence, his entire being, his whole fucking mind escape to the point where the fake smile he wore on his face didn’t even fool himself so he had to excuse his presence from the party and cry into his hands, ignoring Natasha’s careful embrace as she rocked him back and forth and whispered that it would all be okay, that she was there, that they loved each other.

The words, “Rogers-Stark Wedding Ceremony,” etching themselves into his eyes until he saw them in the red-rimmed blue orbs of Steve who was standing in front of him, fingers gripping his vows in his hand.

“ _Bucky-”_ it all came to a close, every moment of his whole entire life came to a sharpened point as he watched his best friend turn back around to look into a floor length mirror, smoothing his hands over his jacket, constantly wiping away nonexistent stray lint. Bucky stepped forward feeling the tears welling up because today Stevie was about to get married but not to Bucky. No, today Steve wore a black fitted tux, a blue tie with a red clip, yellow flowers and a wobbling grin. Today, Stevie was going to walk down the aisle, stand before their friend Sam, straighten his tie over and over until Nat was glaring at him from the other side. Today, Stevie, his Stevie, who looked every bit of the word beautiful, was going to marry Anthony Edward Stark, walk out of this venue with an abbreviated last night and leave Bucky behind to pick up what was left his heart as he continued into a life he had built with the man that he loved.

‘Ste-Stevie, I-” He could say it. He could clutch the man’s shoulder, spin him around and tell him that he has loved him every second of every day since the first time Bucky helped pick his ass up from the concrete. He could grip the collar of the tux, pull Steve in and seal the deal for the first time in his whole life. Steve would choose him, he knew he would, because Steve was his best friend, Steve loved him and would be there until the end of the line for Bucky no if, and's, or buts about it. All he had to do was man up, steel his resolve and let the words ‘I love you’ fall from his lips with a promise to make it all better, to make it alright, to make up for lost time where he was stupid and scared.

He could tell him.

“Bucky,” Steve said once more spinning on his heel. Bucky opened his mouth to say it. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Bucky lost his breathe, “Wh-what?” He looked at his friend.

Steve’s eyes dropped to the faded paper in his hand, “What, well, what if I’m not good enough? Tony, he-he’s a Stark, Buck, he’s a Stark and he’s so damn smart that sometimes I feel lost in the sea of his life. What if I can’t do this full time, Buck, I’ve never- we’ve never-it’s all going to be different now. The moment I walk out there he could either be there too and we leave here as husbands or he could be gone and I’m left with my chest open as proof that I was never good enough,”

 

his voice broke a tear slipping down his cheek, “I love him, James.” Every fiber of his being told him to grab Steve’s hand, to tell Steve that he didn’t have to worry about that because he was good enough for Bucky but-

“Steve.”

The blue-eyed man looked up at him, “Man, you two belong together,” his stomach rolled, “I see you two- I...I see you two sitting together on the couch, Tony typing away on his tablet, you-you’re sketching the umpteenth billionth drawing of him and you two just have these simultaneous moments where you’ll stop whatever you are doing, look up and just stare at each other.” _He gave up, He let him go,_ “That man loves you with everything he is and more. If I ever believe in true love, it was because you two made it possible ten years ago when this crazy kid decided to tutor you in chem class.” Steve was and had never been Bucky’s, “He’ll be with you till the end of the line, now, Punk,”

He could love Steve with every fiber of his being, but Steve, Steve has always belonged to Tony.

**Author's Note:**

> It took me forever to type this and I still feel iffy about it even though I've had nearly six people read through it and tell me they love. I've considered adding more, putting more details and adding depth to the story but only if it's wanted. 
> 
> Enjoy, comment and if you desire the backstory of Bucky, Steve and Tony just lemme know darlings.


End file.
